


Food for Thought

by ArtofDeduction



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Chubby!John, Conflicted John, Disordered Eating, Fat fetish, M/M, Weight Gain, fat!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 14:43:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1554059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtofDeduction/pseuds/ArtofDeduction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has come to believe that being constantly stuffed helps him think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Food for Thought

John stepped into the sitting room, snowflakes still visible on the hood of his green coat. 

Sherlock was sitting squeezed in his armchair, hands clasped under his double chin. At more than twice his former weight, Sherlock solved more cases from the flat than he used to, leaving strenuous legwork to his homeless network and to John for the more important tasks. 

Sherlock glanced at John and stuck a hand out, making no move to sit up from his chair. John sighed and walked across the room to Sherlock, placing the bakery bag he had been holding into his thick hand. The pie encased within would still be hot. 

Sherlock glanced inside, and looked up to John, affronted. “The utensils, John.” Sherlock said.

The fat git was too lazy to get them himself, though nothing had changed there. If John refused, he knew Sherlock would just eat it with his hands.

John fetched the utensils, making Sherlock lean over a bit to grab them from his hand. Sherlock unwrapped his pie, humming with approval at his first bite. It had cherry filling, which was Sherlock’s current favorite. According to Sherlock, cherry helped the most with murder cases. 

John sat in his armchair, watching as Sherlock quickly dug into the pie. He ate directly from the box, fork swiftly moving from the container to his mouth. It wasn’t long before a third of the pie had disappeared. Sherlock definitely enjoyed eating now, but was not one to slowly savor his food, in favor of the ‘efficiency’ of eating at a faster pace. John frequently had to tell the detective to slow down in chewing his food, afraid he might choke. 

After consuming half of a pie that was meant for eight people, Sherlock returned to his thinking position, steeped fingers resting atop his bloated belly. He sat in silence for minutes, thoughts turned inward. John, having spent time in the morgue and screen chatting with Sherlock from the crime scene earlier, felt like he was about to doze.

“It was the gardener!” Sherlock suddenly exclaimed, jumping from his seat. His belly jiggled at the motion, arse leaving an imprint in the green leather. 

Sherlock excitedly explained his reasoning to John, who grinned and nodded sleepily at how the mold on the sheers, together with the gardener’s jobs in winter guaranteed the gardener’s guilt. Lestrade was texted, and they received a reply that the murderous gardener would be apprehended.

Seeing as how Sherlock had spent most of the time leading up to solving the case eating anyway, no victory dinner was mentioned. It was still past dinner time for John though, and he hadn’t had time to cook himself something. He could have gotten himself something at the bakery, but Sherlock had texted to come quickly, and it slipped John’s mind. 

As if on cue, John’s stomach rumbled. Sherlock looked to John, startled. Looking almost guilty, he explained that he had been paying so much attention to his own digestion that he had neglected considering John’s. 

“Don’t worry about it…you had the case to focus on” John replied.

Sherlock held the remainder of the pie out to John in offering. John reluctantly took it, knowing the sugary pie was not included in his diet plan. But what the hell? He was hungry and they had just solved a case.

John brought their pie to the table, which had been cleared of Sherlock’s previous experiment. It had involved cooked chicken legs instead of human eyeballs or testicles, but John wasn’t taking any chances. Sherlock settled into his seat across from John, arse spreading over the edges of his kitchen chair by a few inches. John had always noticed Sherlock’s arse before, and it was definitely hard not too now. 

Sherlock’s gut sat heavily in his lap, tee riding up above a roll of doughy fat. Sherlock either didn’t notice or he didn’t care. John figured it was the latter.

“Vegetables, Sherlock?” John asked, eyeing the detective’s plate. He had taken one last slice of pie. All of Sherlock’s meals this weekend had seemed to consist of a large amount chips and sweets, no greens in sight. 

“I just solved a murder, and this pie has fruit.”, Sherlock argued, taking a bite of his pie in protest.

“Fruit is not vegtables, and that pie filling barely counts as fruit anymore. Eat some baby carrots.”

“Come on, I solved a case. One you were completely convinced that internet addicted college student committed.” 

“Well I’m not Sherlock Holmes, I’m a doctor, and I know what would be healthy for you!” 

Sherlock’s eyes widened. He looked down, catching view of his exposed belly, and pulled his sleep shirt back down. “fine” Sherlock said.

He headed to the fridge, bending over with some difficulty to grab the carrots from the bottom drawer. The carrots were one of the few items of food they had remaining in the flat. 

Sherlock stood back up with a grunt, his shirt riding up again with the motion. The shirt had ridden up higher than it had before, over his belly button and only slightly beneath what had used to be pecks and were now mounds of fleshy tissue. Sherlock pulled down on his tee again to cover himself, but not before John got a full view of Sherlock’s huge, hanging belly. 

John licked his lips, and remembered the days when Sherlock was rail thin, and had razor sharp cheekbones. John, though not overweight as he was now, had been the heavier one then. 

To think he had been the one who started this, introduced Sherlock to thinking of food as something other than a hindrance required by his transport. He certainly hadn’t imagined that things would progress this far. 

He had just wanted Sherlock to eat regularly.

Sherlock returned to his seat and munched on baby carrots in between finishing his slice of pie. A small band of flesh was still visible between his pajama bottoms and tee. 

John drew his eyes away from Sherlock’s belly, and returned to his own portion of pie. He ate rapidly, consuming the entirety of his three slice sized portion, not even noticing how much he had eaten till it was gone. 

He felt even sleepier than before now, and let out a yawn. Sherlock claimed that being that stuffed helped him focus, but as with Sherlock’s former belief that being hungry helped him think, John disagreed. It was easier to sleep than to think, and John let himself be pulled into slumber.


End file.
